


Poison I Need Help

by exultantStardust (mintsaway)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, the viktor depression fic no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8456482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintsaway/pseuds/exultantStardust
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov wants to die.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hey as we all know by now i love projecting my problems onto my favs so here we go, the viktor depression fic that no one asked for! 
> 
> title taken from help by tfb

Viktor wanted to die. He wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. He wanted to curl up so tight he would cease to exist.

Viktor wanted to die.

His life was great, everyone told him. He was beautiful. He was one of the top figure skaters in the world. He had family and friends that loved him. He was smart. He could do anything, have anyone; the world was at his fingertips. So why did he fall asleep at night wondering what his funeral would be like?

It would probably be extravagant, he thought. He’d have an open casket funeral, in a beautiful church. The media would cover it; the world would lament his loss. He would have hated every second of it.

When he was fifteen, his mother took him to see a therapist. His therapist had been a short, round woman with a warm smile and graying hair. Viktor liked her, he felt safe around her. He did not talk to her. She put him on medication, and it helped a little, but not enough. Viktor still wanted to die. He did not tell her this.

When he was sixteen, the thoughts became too much. He went into the bathroom late at night, overdosed on his medicine, and for the first time felt afraid of death. He woke his mother and told her what he’d done, stomach churning with guilt, and his mother had yelled and driven him to the emergency room.

The doctors said he was lucky to be alive and healthy. He could have been much worse. He should have been dead, he thought, and cursed himself for the weakness that made him tell his mother. He wished he was dead.

He spent three days in the intensive care unit, and another week in inpatient therapy. He’d never wanted to die more than he did there. It was obvious the therapists didn’t care about him or the other children. He took solace in the fact that his peers didn’t seem to know who he was.

When he was twenty-seven, Viktor went to Japan to coach Yuuri Katsuki. The man was amazing in Viktor’s eyes, humble, bright, full of potential. Viktor wished he was as happy as he acted.

He loved spending time with Yuuri. It took his mind off of his obsessive intrusive thoughts, the ones that told him to slit his wrists with the blades of his skates, and bash his head into the ice.

Viktor loved watching Yuuri perform, loved watching the younger man get lost in the art of his skating, even if he did make mistakes.

Viktor loved Yuuri. The realization hit Viktor like a ton of bricks, and he smiled despite himself. He loved Yuuri, and, he soon found out, Yuuri loved him.

\--

Yuri was not the most perceptive person in the world, but he could tell something was wrong with Viktor. Stricken, vulnerable looks when he thought he was alone, a bizarre obsession with sweaters and jackets despite the now warmer weather, the sad glint in his eyes Viktor could never completely disguise, something was wrong.

But Yuuri had no idea what to do. Clearly Viktor didn’t want to talk about whatever was bothering him, but Yuuri couldn’t stop worrying. Only when he came back home early from a run did an opportunity present itself to find out what was wrong.

Yuuri approached their shared room quietly. He didn’t want to wake Viktor, who was supposed to be sleeping. Instead he heard muffled sobs from the other side of the door. Yuuri slid the door open carefully to see Viktor curled up on the bed, idly petting Makkachin while trying to suppress sobs. Yuuri noticed quickly the presence of several raised red lines on Viktor’s skin, the same skin he insisted on covering despite the weather.

The noises stopped and Viktor froze as his eyes locked onto Yuuri, who was by the bed in an instant, kneeling down to be eye level with Viktor.

“Viktor,” he said seriously, “what’s wrong?”

The Russian man didn’t reply.

“Viktor,” Yuuri murmured, eyes tracing the scars on Viktor’s arms, and the older man flinched.

“It’s nothing,” Viktor replied unconvincingly, “just a little sad.”

Yuuri gathered his boyfriend up in a hug and held him close, fingers running soothingly through silver hair.

“Viktor,” he mumbled into the man’s hair, and Viktor fought back more tears, “Viktor what’s wrong?” Yuuri asked, and his voice sounded so worried, so sincere, so caring, that Viktor thought he would be sick. He was pathetic, making Yuuri worry over his worthless self. He let a small sob escape himself.

“I can’t,” he mumbled, and Yuuri tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, pulling the older up to face him.

“You can’t what?” he asked quietly, and Viktor almost wished he’d never met Yuuri, almost wished he’d never fallen in love with this angel of a man, almost.

Viktor sobbed harder.

“Can’t,” he whispered, “can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?” Yuuri coaxed, and Viktor steeled himself for whatever reaction would follow what he had to say.

“Live,” he murmured, and Yuuri’s eyes went wide, small tears pricking at the corners.

“Oh Viktor,” Yuuri pulled his boyfriend closer, breathing in the scent of his hair and pressing soft kisses to the side of his face.

“Viktor, Viktor, Viktor,” he mumbled, trying to convey all his love through small, simple touches.

Viktor was depressed. Viktor wanted to die. That was what was wrong.

Yuuri berated himself for not noticing the signs sooner, realized with horror that the lines on Viktor’s skin were marks from him _hurting himself_ , but he didn’t have much time for those thoughts with his boyfriend, his wonderful, glorious boyfriend, crying in his arms that he wanted to die.

“I love you,” Yuuri mumbled, “so much, and I know that doesn’t make it any easier, but I’m here for you, and I love you, and I want to help you.”

Viktor sniffed and looked down at his arms, barely able to mumble a lame “love you too,” before exhaustion overtook him and he was slumping into Yuuri’s arms.

Viktor started seeing a new therapist, this time a tall, slim woman with a sharp nose and kind eyes. He did his best to talk to her, and he did his best to talk to Yuuri.

It was difficult, and he still hurt himself from time to time, still toyed with the idea of death, but he felt like he was doing better, if only a little.

Yuuri, held him close one night, whispering his love to Viktor in the darkness of their room, and for the first time in years, Viktor thought he wanted to live. He wanted to live and be happy and be in love. He held tight to Yuuri and fell asleep smiling and happy, really, genuinely happy, for the first time in as long as he could remember. 

**Author's Note:**

> yuuri is the boyfriend i wish i had


End file.
